


Dernière Danse

by SubwayWolf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Belts, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Lingerie, M/M, Men Crying, Post-Grand Prix Final, Spanking, sex as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: Chris's boyfriend tries his best to help Chris through the sadness of a Grand Prix Final loss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ive been struggling all month to write and i dont know why. i mean, i have been writing, but it's mostly just Stuff For Me / self-indulgent shit i wont share, but i cant bring myself to fulfill any requests. until this one showed up. now i feel like a new man.
> 
> yep, it's been months since yoi s1 ended and i'm still into it. and i'm still really into chris. since anon suggested chris "assplay, spanking, or both" in essence, i cant really thank them (though i am VERY THANKFUL for them) , so i guess i'll thank,,, [dettsu](https://twitter.com/DettsuArt) who is the god of chris/mystery bf content. im really excited for her artbook which i pre-ordered! can't wait to see it!
> 
> anyway uh. here's chris getting spanked, + angst! i love chris' big ass. definitely one of my top five favorite things about him. enjoy, everyone!
> 
> ps: chris' BF is named Stefan in this one just like in [lucky you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9741482)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lord... this ended up being almost 10k... ive really been meaning to write this fic for a long time and i guess that showed because i wrote so much. god... lol. i kinda go overboard with the random out-of-nowhere character metas, too but they came out of me so fast before i even know i'm writing them. i think about chris a lot. i guess you can probably tell.

Nothing is wrong.

Coach Josef Karpisek is a naturally quiet man, especially when he’s upset or frustrated. Right now, he’s neither of those things,. He’s silent and pensive, but not tense. Chris couldn’t place on the podium in the Finals event, and Coach isn’t upset in the slightest. He congratulates Chris on his free skate score with a fond gaze and a tender hug, and takes notes on the performance in his leather-bound pocketbook as he always does. There’s no lecture, no disappointment, no pity. Nothing.

Stefan looks around and wonders if other coaches are like this, too. He sees Otabek Altin with his coach, both of them silent, stoic, not speaking. He sees Phichit Chulanont with a smile on his face, but his coach’s expression did not match. Katsuki and Nikiforov are nowhere to be found. Jean Leroy is talking up a storm to the media as his parents look on fondly. And Yuri Plisetsky, winner and gold medalist, is being lectured by his expressionless coaches as he attempts to actively avoid press events.

So there’s no right way. Every team is different. Coach Karpisek has always been warm-hearted and paternal in his own way, so maybe this reaction to Chris placing fifth is not unusual.

But that isn’t all. What’s strange is that Chris doesn’t seem upset, either.

Well, he does. Deep down, it’s clear that something is wrong, but his face and eyes don’t show it. Chris is still walking around, crown of red roses on his head, giving bright fake-smiles to his competitors and shaking their hands in congratulations. Even Plisetsky, scowling and standoffish, received a supportive hug from Chris after the ceremonies had ended. Chris enjoys giving well wishes and support to his friends. And while he doesn’t appear to be sad, he isn’t happy, either – Stefan ventures to guess that Chris feels _relieved_ , like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Mildly frustrated, Stefan stands closer to the rink as Chris takes some questions from a small group of people with microphones and cameras. He still seems lively and awake despite pouring all his energy into the program, and his voice is clear and confident, but he isn’t smiling.

Stefan watches him with more awe than concern, and feels guilty. Guilty because he wants to help, but he isn’t sure how to. And where there’s no visible problem on the surface, he’s unsure exactly what he’d be helping in the first place.

He remembers the kiss and cry, and afterwards, sitting in the stands or standing rinkside, how there’s no pity at all. Coach Karpisek didn’t soothe Chris, and Chris didn’t look for reassurance. So what can he do to help?

Stefan fidgets, his hands opening and closing, digging his nails into the insides of his palms. He wants to make it better, but as it seems, nothing is wrong. He wants to touch Chris, to stroke through his hair, to hold his hand, but Chris is standing proud. 

Stefan thinks, reptetitively: _something’s wrong._ And even as he draws that conclusion, he doesn’t know what to do about it.

To make matters worse, Coach Karpisek approaches Stefan from behind and says to him privately, “He needs you.”

It makes Stefan’s stomach sink. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t move. He feels Coach’s hand on his shoulder and wants to flinch away.

Karpisek knows what he’s talking about. He’s known Chris much longer than Stefan has, been in Chris’s life since he was a child, and never left. Their bond was thicker than water, almost, and it dwarfed Chris and Stefan’s romantic relationship. Of course it wasn’t fair to compare the two, and Chris had more than enough love to give on both ends, but it was difficult to look at a paternal bond like that and not feel outdone. 

Stefan felt like he was intruding sometimes, but the two of them always helped him feel welcome on the team. That’s why had to return the favor. He had to show Chris he was grateful for being loved. But he couldn’t bring himself to move, even now, in Chris’s time of need.

Stefan settles with saying, “Maybe.”

Karpisek, as persistent as ever, repeats himself. “I said, he needs you.” 

_And what if he doesn’t? What if he need space? What if a bit of pressure breaks him?_ In that case, Stefan could never forgive himself. Still, it would be better for Chris to cry than to bottle everything up like he always does. 

This time Stefan hears himself say, “I know.”

“Then go.”

Stefan shakes his head a little. “Something’s wrong. He’s not smiling.”

“Neither am I. Neither are you.”

Karpisek is right. What’s the point of worrying if no action comes of it? If anyone has taught Stefan to stop getting caught up in anxiety and take action instead, it’s Chris. It’s about time Stefan took that lesson and made good of it in a way that helps the man he loves. Conclusively, what’s the worst that can happen? Chris has the talent of turning _anything_ into an argument, but running that risk is worth it. 

Stefan nods. His posture stiffens, and he carries his head a little higher. “Fine,” he agrees. “I’ll go check on him.”

“Good man.” Karpisek commends him further with a hard slap on the back, nearly knocking Stefan off-balance.

* * *

Stefan plans to be a gauge.

He plans to approach Chris and share smiles with him. What happens next can and will differ. Maybe Chris will break, fall right into Stefan’s arms, crying. Maybe he’ll be angry and tell him to get lost through his teeth. Or maybe nothing’s wrong at all, and Chris will greet Stefan with a kiss on the cheek and an arm around his waist, as always. 

Stefan plays through all these scenarios in his head as he gets closer to Chris, who is finishing him up the last of his interviews. He assumes that from looking him in the eyes he’ll be able to tell what he’s feeling.

He’s wrong.

Chris Giacometti, man of mystery, seasoned veteran at wearing masks and bottling up every emotion under the sun, greets Stefan with a grin, a gleam in his eyes, and a cheerful voice. 

“There you are, _cherie_. I’ve been waiting for you to come rescue me from this media circus.”

Stefan frowns. He feels his stomach sinking again, and can’t remember any of what he’d planned to say.

“You look…” Stefan doesn’t finish. _Sad. Lost. Like you want to put your hands over your ears and scream until your lungs burn._

Despite not getting a full answer, Chris knows he’s being read like a book, and gets defensive. His smile drops marginally. “What did you come over here for?”

The first thing that comes to mind when Stefan thinks of a way to help Chris is to remove him from any and all stressful situations. Some say pressure makes diamonds, but in most cases it just makes angry lash-outs and a lot of tears. So he suggests, “I think you should wrap it up.”

Chris furrows his brow. “I’m not finished yet. There’s a few people I still have to talk to. It’s respectful not to leave anyone out – especially since the number of people who want to speak with me is not as high as it used to be.”

There it is.

Stefan struggles to make eye contact with him. “You need to get away from all this.”

Chris is not fond of being told what he needs. Already agitated, he closes off completely. ”You should go back to the hotel. Take Coach with you.”

“We’ll wait for you.”

“Just go. I need some alone time. Please.”

Usually when Chris says that, he’s lying, like some sort of test to see if Stefan will really leave him. But this time it seems different, different because he’s never looked this distantly sad before. So Stefan doesn’t move.

When he notices Stefan isn’t leaving, Chris stays insistent. “See you at the banquet. I’ll save you a dance.”

Chris turns to leave.

Stefan wants to call out to him or reach out and grab him but he’s stiff all over and can’t move. Chris moves slowly, like he wants to be stopped. His gaze lingers over his shoulder for a moment before he turns his head, resigned.

“Wait.”

Chris stops. It didn’t take much for him to halt in his tracks, but he looks ready to leave again. There’s a hesitation before he turns. Stefan almost expects him to be teary, but Chris looks fine, perhaps a tinge annoyed.

Stefan clearly isn’t sure what to do or say, so he sighs. He says the only thing he can think of. “I’m sorry, Chris.”

“No.” It’s not a denial – Chris can see that Stefan is sorry, or guilty, or something. He doesn’t combat it, but diverts it instead. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t be pushing you away. It’s selfish of me.”

“It’s okay to be selfish.”

Chris keeps his eyes on the ground, but his expression is slipping. He looks hurt by that, probably because he doesn’t like being read so well. Chris doesn’t let many people in because he doesn’t like his heart exposed; he’s been hurt in the past, and emotional vulnerability puts him in a permanent flinching state, like he’s waiting to be attacked. He is so good at hiding it though. He is so good at showing confidence and maintaining that level head, being calm and warm and unbothered. None of those facets of his personality are untrue, of course, it’s just that he knows how to keep them up when the dark sides are primed to rear their ugly heads. In other words, he’s strong. Seeing him slip like this hurts like nothing else.

Stefan is one of the lucky few to see that closed off, hidden side of Chris which he doesn’t show the world. This is not the right place to allow it to front; Chris feels better with his guard up and it isn’t fair of Stefan to break it down right now. He timed this poorly.

Stefan says again, “I’m sorry.”   
Chris’s gaze turns into a glare. “Stop saying that.”

He needs more. “I’m sorry because-”

“Because I lost? Nothing for you to be sorry about. That was all me.”

As Chris’s gaze shifts to the floor, Stefan shuts up immediately. He’s is a little shocked to hear that, but he doesn’t correct him. Chris is getting sadder and Stefan can feel it in the air, like the whole room is dampening, getting heavier, constraining around them.

Just as fast, though, Chris keeps on. He places every ounce of blame on himself and it’s burning him from the inside, but he doesn’t let his mask slip. “Stefan. It was unfair of me to direct blame towards you, and I apologize.”

“You can take it out on me, if it would make you feel better.”

The same green eyes that looked ready to well up in tears moments before now have an amused gleam to them. Chris actually smirks a little. “I do like taking every opportunity I can to be mean to you, but now isn’t a good time. Now, it isn’t fair. Though I predict it shouldn’t be hard for me to find something to be mad at you about.”

The smile is forced, and Stefan can’t match it. He can’t think of the right thing to say, so he tries a different approach. Without saying another word, he takes Chris in a hug. 

The hug is not soft and their muscles are not pliable. It’s very different than when they hold each other in bed after fucking, and very different from the tender hugs they share at airports after spending time long-distances apart. Chris is completely stiff at first, his muscles tensed in alarm. That flinching state is back – he’s on edge, and he can’t hide it now. Stefan just holds him, strong and close, and won’t let go.   
Chris’s voice sounds a bit alarmed, too. “Stefan?”

“Don’t say anything. Close your eyes.”

Stefan’s breathing is easy, level, and steady, a soft and stagnant contrast to the tension in Chris’s body as he stands there hesitantly. Feeling that easy rhythm, Chris starts to loosen up. His body practically unravels, every muscle loosening, turning pliant. He holds Stefan tighter, with growing strength, even as his resolve grows weaker.

Chris closes his eyes and the hidden sides begin to show. He starts losing control, and tenses up all over again. His breathing constricts as his throat tightens, and his muscles tense to keep him from crying. Through all this, he hugs Stefan back, leaning against him, needing the support.

Through Chris’s closed eyes, tears well up as he tries hard to keep composure. His grip on Stefan’s clothes is tight, as is the hug. He holds his breath. The sobs threatening to creep up his throat are choked out – he’s strong enough for that, for now. 

It takes a long time of silence and close contact, but it’s Chris who eventually breaks the hug. When they look each other in the face again, Chris averts his eyes and tries blinking the tears away as fast as he can. 

Patient, Stefan waits to hear his voice. He brings a hand to Chris’s face and strokes his cheek gently. 

The tender touch threatens to break Chris’s resolve, and he shakes his head. “Stop. Please, I don’t need this. You don’t have to do this.”

“If you cry, you’ll feel better.” Stefan knows that from previous experience.

“I’m fine.”

Clearly that isn’t true, but Stefan doesn’t fight him.

And he doesn’t need to. Chris caves; the deep strength his voice weakens. “I’m not fine.”

“ _Chaton_ , please let me help.”

Chris shakes his head again. A line of tears build up at the rim of his eyes, pooling on his eyelashes. His voice is nearly a whisper now. “Not here,” he says, and then again, “Not here.” 

Stefan nods gently. As long as he got to help soon, that was all he could ask for.

Chris seems to know that if they keep up this quiet talk and gentle affection, he’s going to cry. So he steps back and takes his hands off his boyfriend and turns to look behind him, where the media is still waiting.

Strength raises back into Chris’s voice, if only slightly. “I have to go.”

He looks very beautiful, even though he’s sad. He quickly wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. They’re gone now, but his eyes are still gleaming a bit, looking greener than usual. And his cheeks are flushed from holding the tears back, and a bit from embarrassment as well.

“I know you don’t want to be alone tonight, even if you try and tell me that you do,” Stefan says, because he knows it’s true. “I’ll see you at our room, okay?”   
Chris still won’t look him in the eyes. “You don’t have to meet me there. I know you’ll be busy with Federation business…”

Always patient, Stefan watches him and waits.

Chris’s voice is noticeably weak, his throw still tight and raw. He takes a breath, pausing, resigning to his own emotions, letting himself be selfish as he comes to terms with what he needs. “But if you want to...”

“Finish your interviews, then rest up a bit. When I finish speaking with the Federation, I’ll come find you.”

Chris nods. He can’t smile. “Okay, then. I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

When Stefan goes to their room, he doesn’t need to use his key card because the door is unlocked. That puts an uneasy feeling in his stomach, but it settles when he closes the door behind him and sees Chris standing there.

Christophe is by the window. The blinds are closed, but he uses his hand and lifts them a bit so he can see the sun setting across the Barcelona skyline. He’s shirtless and wearing lingerie –panties his ass barely fits into, thigh-high stockings, and thigh garters – the set a gorgeous, expensive, black lace. The purple and red light from outside illuminates his body from behind, and he looks beautiful.

Chris gives no notion that he has noticed Stefan enter the room, so Stefan greets him. 

“Hello, Chris.”

Chris says nothing. He continues to watch the sunset, his eyes half-lidded.

Stefan breaks the silence again. “You look very beautiful.”

Chris doesn't move. Stefan puts his bag down on the bed and lifts the bottle of champagne he had been carrying in his other hand. Sometimes sponsorship companies buy champagne to give to the event’s winner, and Plisetsky, being a teenager, refused them at his coach’s discretion, so there was leftovers for competitors to take. Stefan isn’t much of a drinker, but Chris likes Rosé. He had hoped a bottle would cheer him up.

“I brought something to drink. You should have a glass, it'll help you relax.”

Chris finally turns. He doesn't smile. His voice is deep, dark, and low. “How do you feel about spanking?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! here's chapter two in which chris actually gets spanked lmao. i really hope everyone enjoys this. i hope it's a good mix of sad/sex/sappiness. if you like it a lot, leave me a comment or just say hi! thanks for being patient, too!
> 
> next chapter will be shorter, kinda like a cute epilogue and some more aftercare :3
> 
> ps - chris is trans in this. i write... SO MUCH fic of him, most of which i'll never share, so i kind of forget that this isn't a widely accepted hc and that im essentially alone here... if youre not into it, it's only in extremely minor details you would probably gloss over if you didn't know, and you can read it as you wish. but i also hope more people like it and write it too! :)

_Spanking?_

Stefan pauses. He's taken aback. They’ve never tried it before. Chris loves getting his ass grabbed and squeezed during sex and even while being kissed, but he’s never asked about something like this, though it doesn’t surprise Stefan that he would like to try it.

He doesn’t answer quick enough because Chris’s eyes are on him, burning a glare into him, and he rephrases himself. “I want you to spank me.”

Stefan stares at him blankly. He doesn’t want to agree yet, so he stays quiet.

Chris turns and approaches him. His voice is not playful or flirty, it's mean. “You can hit me hard, can't you?”

“If that's what you want.”

In the moment of hesitation it takes for Chris’s anger levels to rise, he steps forward, almost face-to-face with him. From his eyes and his body language, it’s clear that he's extremely upset. “Don't be such a pussy. Be mean to me. Hurt me.”

Chris shoves Stefan to irk him, but barely moves him. Stefan keeps his posture and allows himself to be roughed around, unfazed.

Chris doesn’t like that at all. “Come on, you asshole. Play along.”

Chris raises his hand to push him again but Stefan grabs him by the throat, relatively lightly. Chris flushes and freezes in place immediately. His body reacts by tensing up, and his temperature rises. Stefan can feel muscle and skin run warm beneath his hand.

“Don't speak to me that way,” Stefan commands him. Somehow his voice doesn’t break, though all he can think about is apologizing. “Get on the bed.”

Chris’s eyes look more pleased now that Stefan is humoring him. Stefan releases his grip, and Chris walks over to the bed like he’s told.

“Lie on your stomach,” Stefan instructs him further. “Look at your hands and don't touch yourself.”

Chris does as he's told. He lies down face-first and puts his hands on the bed, and stares at them. There’s a growing blush on his face. Clearly, he’s starting to enjoy this, but the stiffness in his body shows that if Stefan breaks character even for a second, he’ll get an earful.

If this is what Chris needs, Stefan will give it to him. They trust and love each other. Doing this in the privacy of their hotel room is much safer than what Chris used to do to blow off steam and punish himself, before they started dating. Yes, this is far better, and far healthier. While Stefan doesn’t have much experience acting dominant in bed, he fancies himself as an above-average actor, and can play the role if he needs to. Sometimes Chris likes playing that role, but sometime he needs this instead. He’s never been this adamant about it, though. And he’s never gotten physical with Stefan before. But he’s upset, and will say sorry later, and they’ll talk about it and things will clear up.

But right now, things are not clear. Chris’s frustration is brimming like tea boiling over. Once again Stefan feels his stomach twist as he thinks, _something’s wrong_. He tries his best to focus on playing the role instead of worrying; for now, at least.

Chris looks up. His eyes are slightly irritated red, a barely noticeable change of hue. This is probably the effects of the tears from earlier at the stadium, or maybe he just finished crying more recently.

He needs to cry again but doesn’t want to. Stefan distracts him; tears can come later.

Stefan stands above him near the bed. When Chris looks up, Stefan grabs him by the hair. 

“Don't look at me.” Chris’s blonde-dyed hair is short and hard to grab a fistful of, but Stefan doesn’t tug hard. It’s soft between his fingers, warm from standing near the sunset at the window.

In an obedient mood, Chris’s eyes turn back to the bedding. He flushes redder.

Stefan loosens his grip. “What do you want? My hand? Did you bring any toys?”

Chris’s voice is quiet and low. “There's a paddle on the side table.”

Stefan releases Chris, but Chris stays perfectly in place, stiff and unmoving. Stefan walks to the table to find what he’s talking about, and sure enough, on the bed, is the monstrosity Chris was referring to.

It’s a paddle. It’s made of wood, painted a soft pink color – Chris’s favorite color. It’s almost two feet long. It’s curved concavely at one end as a handle, but the rest is rounded and long, meant for hard, broad spanking. Stefan lifts it and it weights his wrist down; it’s considerably heavy, a real plank of hard, genuine wood. It’s thicker than most paddles Stefan has seen. Of course, spanking is meant to be painful, but this is on a whole new level of sadism.

Stefan can’t help it, and he breaks character. “This is going to hurt you.”

Chris keeps his eyes fixed on his hands. His voice is nearly a whisper. “Good.”

“I mean, it's too heavy and dense. It'll hurt.” 

“I'm not a fucking beginner.”

Stefan looks at it a little more. He holds it in two hands. It will hurt, badly, and not in the exciting way. It will hurt because too many hits or a hit too hard will likely break skin and cause bleeding, and if not, bruise him black to the extent that he won’t be able to sit down comfortably for at least a week.

Chris doesn’t seem to understand. Or, worse – he understands perfectly.

Stefan’s stomach sinks. “Christophe,” he says gently, softly, in the most convincing voice he can manage. “This won't hurt in the fun way. You're going to bruise black, and bleed.”

“Good.” Chris locks his jaw. His words are spoken through clenched teeth. “Good!”

Stefan looks at him finally. His expression matches the hurt in his voice. Chris keeps his eyes down, looking at his hands, and he’s gritting his teeth and trying to stay calm. Dutifully but close to breaking, he stares at the bed as told, but clearly he wants to cry.

This is too much. He has to put his foot down. “I'm not going to hit you with this.”

Chris finally turn his head to look at him. The fire of anger in his eyes is unmatchable, nothing like Stefan has ever seen from him before. And his voice is dark, bitterly _angry_. “You fucking better.”

“No.”

“Do it, Stefan! You weak bastard! Hit me!”

It comes to Stefan in a realization that the only way to convince Chris is to distract him with an alternative.

Refusing to fight any more about this, Stefan walks up to the bed again, getting closer. He takes a silent breath and puts all his focus in his posture and playing the character. He knows he can be sexy when he wants to be – Chris has told him as much. He’d grown in confidence exponentially since meeting Chris, who helped him to not get embarrassed in the bedroom, to become whomever he wanted, and whoever Chris wanted, with no fear of judgment. And every role he or Chris played was followed by sappy aftercare, which Chris absolutely adored and was very talented at as well. At least Stefan has that to look forward to.

He gets in character again, glaring down at Chris who looks up at him with fading anger. “Stop talking to me that way. Get on all fours and shut up.”

It works. Chris manages to cool off. As told, he rises off his stomach and gets on all fours, kneeling wile propping himself up with his arms. He waits for further instructions, and his cheeks turn pink. He’s starting to enjoy this.

Stefan sits on the bed and pulls Chris onto his lap, facing him down. Chris lies on his stomach again, his head now in the covers, his midsection draped over Stefan’s lap. His breathing grows a bit lighter in anticipation, and his muscles start to marginally relax.

Stefan reaches up to finger and tease underneath the lace edges of Chris’s panties. “You look like a slut in these panties. It's so embarrassing.”

Chris is warm, and dripping wet. He shifts his hips so that ass is in Stefan's lap. Stefan can’t help but to stare; his cheeks are round and firm and look like they’re about to burst out of the panties, which barely fit him in the first place. A small whine comes out of Chris’s throat as he grinds his hips against Stefan’s legs.

Stefan knows he should get started. “I'm going to hit you with my hand first. If you can take it without crying, I'll bring out the paddle.”

Chris seems satisfied with that, but as in most things, he’s growing impatient. “Just do it already.”

“Don't talk back at me. Take it like a good boy.”

Stefan hits him. There is clear hesitation in the motion, but the sound is a loud smack and immediately, Stefan moves his hand away and grimaces. Luckily Chris can’t see his face.

Chris flinches, but he isn't impressed. “You can hit harder than that.”

“I said to shut up.” Stefan manages somehow to get back into character. He rears his hand back again, and hits him harder. 

Chris flinches again, a bit more this time. He seems to enjoy not being warned beforehand and taken by surprise, he still wants more. “Harder, damn you!” His hands ball into fists.

Fine. He really means business and won’t stop being upset until he’s satisfied.

Stefan grabs the black lace panties by the waistband and pulls them down so they rest under the curve of the underside of Chris’s ass, which is already turning a little pink. With this exposed flesh right there in Stefan’s lap basically begging to be hit, Stefan rears his hand back and gives him another hard smack. 

This one is stronger. It's loud, and stings, given the way Chris tenses up and inhales sharply. But he keeps complaining. “Why are you being so damn gentle?”

Stefan feels guilty but doesn’t show it. “I said to stop talking.”

“Hurt me. Hit me like I deserve it.”

Stefan can't see his boyfriend’s face, but he can feel the tension in his body and knows something is wrong. He needs to change this process if he has any hope of helping Chris feel better. So, he stills his own hand.

New instructions, then. “Bend over the side of the bed. Keep your hands up.”

Chris lifts his head and turns, studying Stefan to gauge if he’s joking or not.

Stefan manages to keep a stern expression. “Do it now. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

There is no hesitation in Chris’ movement as he gets up off of Stefan’s lap and kneels on the floor. His ass is still exposed; even the tightness of his lingerie is not strong enough to snap back into place over the prominent curve of his ass. 

Stefan stands behind him. Chris turns over his shoulder to watch as he unloops his belt from his pants. Chris’ eyes widen, but they sparkle as well. He’s getting excited, but doesn’t smile.

This is going to hurt, a lot, and Stefan already feels guilty. He thinks maybe asking will make it easier, even if it kills the mood. He holds the black leather belt, looped in half, in his hand so Chris can see it.

“I'm going to hit you with this belt. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Chris doesn’t miss a beat. “Please, do it as hard as you can.”

Stefan glances at the belt as he holds it in his hand. It’s a cheap one he’s had for many years, the leather thin and flimsy. It will hurt, but nowhere near as much as that monstrous paddle would have.

Guilt continuing to twist him up, Stefan decides to ask again, to give his boyfriend another chance to opt you. “Can you take this?”

Chris is flushed and very ready. “Yes.” There’s no hint of hesitation in his voice. 

Stefan nods. He relaxes back into character. “Prove it to me. I'm going to hit you hard.”

“You fucking better.”

With no further warning, Stefan hits him. Chris cries out in reflex, but it comes out in half a moan as well. The belt’s smacking sound is brutal and it causes Stefan’s stomach to sink.

He keeps up the act, though. “Watch your mouth.”

“Fuck you. Do it again!”

Stefan hits him once more. 

Chris can't hold back another scream of pain.

The horror of it causes Stefan to still his hand. Pink lash marks have appeared across Chris’ ass. They darken more and more by the second into a bright, stinging red. He wants to stop but he knows Chris will be even more upset if he does. 

Stefan is cornered. This is the only option Chris has given to him. Since that’s the case, he has to try his best.

“Start counting. I'm going to give you ten lashes. Every time you scream, I'll start over at one.”

Chris nods and bites his lip. He's dripping wet between his legs. He levels his breathing and balls his fists in the sheets, preparing. 

Stefan hits him. The smacking sound carries through the room, broken only by Chris’ gasp.

“Fuck,” Chris curses through his teeth. “One.”

Stefan hits him again.

“Two.”

“Good boy.”

This is going well. Hopefully they’ll get to ten without issue, and this will be over with. He also hopes Chris orgasms from this. In his own pants, his cock is getting tender and sensitive, filling up marginally, but he isn’t hard.

Stefan hits him, with stronger force. Chris’s entire body flinches, and he cries out a half-sob.

“Start over.”

Chris assembles himself, embarrassed that he cried out in pain. He doesn’t apologize, just clenches his jaw and keeps his fists white-knuckled in the sheets. He hangs his head. His ass is a bright red color now, undoubtedly painful.

His voice shakes. “ _Mon dieu_...”

Stefan can barely look at him. The color his rear end is turning is horrific. He need more reassurance or he can’t do this. “Is this okay?”

“Keep going,” Chris rushes to say. His fists tighten so hard they nearly shake. “Fuck. Keep going.”

Before he can hesitate again, Stefan hits him once more.

Chris has to hold his breath, but chokes out sobs as he goes. “One.”

As he anticipates another, Chris’s entire body is completely tense. His ass is red and raw, stinging with pain. His thighs shake as he stays up on his knees, fighting the reflex to buckle down and hide himself.

Stefan grimaces as he hits him again.

“Two.”

That’s when his voice breaks. 

Stefan can’t see his face, and Chris has done so well hiding it thus far, but it’s clear now that Chris is crying. It only takes a half-step forward to see tears streaming down his face, dropping down onto the sheets his fists are balled white-knuckled into, shaking. 

That’s enough. Stefan stops.

Every muscle in Chris’s body is tense like a reared-back slingshot, waiting for the next lash, but it doesn't come. 

Chris turns to look at Stefan. His eyes are wet and brimming with tears, horribly red. He should be sad, but his eyes show anger instead. “Why did you stop?”

Stefan sees his expression and his heart sinks. He’s stuck again, he doesn’t know what to do or say. He feels guilty for agreeing to do this, and for stopping as well. He freezes. He doesn’t know what to do, and once again is at a loss for how to help.

Stefan says the same thing that comes to mind. “I'm sorry, Chris.”

“Keep at it. We haven't gotten to ten.”

Stefan shakes his head. He can’t look his boyfriend in the eyes anymore.

Chris’s anger spikes. “Come on, keep hitting me!”

“I'm not going to hit you anymore.”

“Why not?”

Stefan can’t hold back a grimace. “Because you're in pain.”

Chris’s anger is boiling over now. All his emotions start to spill out in a spreading fire. He thinks he isn’t being heard. “I want it to hurt! Keep hitting me!

“Chris…” Stefan says his lover’s name as sweetly as he can, but it does nothing to cool the flames. “I think you've had enough.”

“No. Keep going!” His expression is starting to break. The tears brimming on his eyelashes fall from their place and roll down his cheeks. “Hit me until I bleed! Please. I want it. I need it. I deserve it.”

Helpless, Stefan stands still and does nothing. The belt is still in his hand. He holds it tight, the leather pressing into his palm.

Chris’s anger turns to sadness, and the tears keep rolling down. “What are you waiting for? I told you to hurt me! Why won't you do it?”

Stefan doesn't know what to say.

“Do you hate me? Do you think I'm disgusting?”

“ _Chaton_ , of course not...”

“You're ashamed of me.” He puts words in Stefan’s mouth, fighting for its own sake, yelling because he needs to. “I'm an embarrassment. I'm a fucking loser, I can't win anything. I'm pathetic, aren't I? You hate me, don't you?”

“I don't hate you.”

“Don't lie to me! I know you hate me. And you're disgusted, that's why you won't touch me. I'm so ugly and pathetic right now.” Chris is running out of steam quickly. Everything about him runs weaker: his voice, his posture, his resolve. His voice is so quiet and broken he is practically whimpering. “Please... I need to be hurt. I want it so bad. Please give it to me.”

The tears come harder. Chris can’t fight any longer. He turns and buries his face in the sheets again. He lowers on his knees on the floor and cries into the sheets, hard, his voice muffled through them as chokes out his apology.

“I'm sorry!” Chris sobs into the bed sheets, wetting them through. “I'm sorry, I fucked up. I can't win. I'm not strong enough. I'm sorry I couldn't do it. I'm sorry I'm crying and that I'm so pathetic and weak, I'm sorry!”

Stefan feels actual relief watch over him and despite everything, he hears himself think, _Finally._ Chris is finally letting this all out. He has to burn it out in an emotional and dramatic way, of course. Not only is this drama very quintessentially ‘Chris’, but it’s also what works best for him when he’s sad. 

Stefan knows what to do now. He’s gone through this before and knows exactly how to help. He gets closer to the bed, slowly as if not to startle him. Then he finds one of Chris’s hands and places his own over it.

Stefan asks him, “Can you stand?”

Chris tenses up. He snatches his hand away. “Don't fucking touch me,” he mumbles, then continues to cry into the comforter.

Stefan removes his hand but doesn’t back down. “Get on the bed, Chris.” 

Chris groans to signal that he doesn’t want to move. It’s a start. 

He needs a little more encouragement. “Come on. Take it easy, and move slowly.”

It takes him a moment, but Chris is able to rise a bit and climb onto the bed. He’s in too much pain to sit down. Stefan sits with him, his back in the pillows, and lifts his arm to make a place for Chris to curl up beside him. 

Chris falls into place but when Stefan puts his arm around him, the trapped sensation agitates him all over again. He puts his hands on Stefan’s chest and tries pushing him away, or pushing himself off.

“Stop it,” he fusses, “Stop it! I don't deserve this! I'm not good enough for you. Stop being good to me, I don't want it. Hurt me instead.”

Stuck between the options of giving Chris space or keeping him from self-destruction, Stefan holds still. “Chris, please calm down.”

Chris is gripping hard onto Stefan's clothes now, trying to rip away. He’s very strong, stronger than Stefan expects of him, despite that he’s an athlete who pole dances as exercise in his spare time. Somehow, his strength often catches Stefan off-guard, maybe because he’s always so relaxed and calm and in bed he likes to bottom and be held and drape himself over the couch like a huge cat. But he really is physically strong, to a degree that is not only intimidating but also impressive.

Despite the power imbalance, Stefan manages somehow to hold onto him and ease him down. “Don't hold your breath. Come on. Breathe out. Breathe in.”

It’s not working. Chris holds his breath, tension overtaking him.

“Let it get easier, Chris. Breathe. _Breathe_.”

Chris caves; he can't help it. He breathes, finally, and the tension lessens as he lies on his chest and tears leak out his eyes. The strength previously going towards escaping is now being used for holding on to his boyfriend as tight as he can. Chris’ eyes, still flooded with tears, stay open as he lays on his chest, body pressed against Stefan’s. 

Stefan can feel him relaxing, as if he’s unravelling, piece by piece. “Keep crying. You need to. Cry harder.”

Chris squeezes his eyes tight, and the tears keep falling. He can’t bring himself to speak.

But he has to. His body’s long-winded resolve, the strength he had kept up for so long which kept the mask in place, it’s finally broken. He is fatigued and exhausted and can no longer hold the tears back. The words have to come out, too. He has to explain, or he can never heal.

Stefan urges him on. “Do you think you can tell me why you're crying?”

Tensing again, Chris buries his face in Stefan's chest. “I'm a loser. I placed fifth.” There it is, finally. That admission is the obvious, brittle surface. 

Stefan strokes through his hair gently. “The season isn't over yet.”

Somehow he’s able to keep a strength in his voice enough to talk, but that strength threatens to break at any second. “That was my best skating, and the younger boys beat me out. I can't do any better. I'm not strong enough anymore.”

Deep in thought, Stefan runs his fingers over the short undercut of Chris’s hair. For now, he will try not to speak until Chris has exhausted every truth and admission he can possibly share. It will help the most if he just stays here by his side and listens.

“I know I didn't act like I wanted the gold, not like the others did. But I did want it. I don't train to lose - I wanted that medal, so badly. I always do. But even with Viktor gone, I couldn't get it.” Chris tenses up, heavy on Stefan's body. “I should give it up. I should retire.”

If Stefan had to pick one thing that he would call a worst-case scenario, retirement would be it.

Of course, choosing to retire is Chris’ decision and if he decided that, Stefan would fully support him. But resigning to retirement as the only valid option after losing a big competition was a result of self-doubt, not of a well thought-out career move. Discussing that was probably Coach Karpisek’s job, not Stefan’s. But it was Stefan’s place to ease the feelings of indecision.

This disillusionment did not surface only recently. Chris had been in this mode of frustration and uncertainty for months now, so much that Stefan had picked up the hints that Chris was looking to retire not long after Worlds of last year. He hadn’t said as much to Coach Karpisek or even to Stefan, but there was a difference in this season that separated it from the seasons before. 

There was a sense of hesitation, of waiting too long to plan his peak for the Finals. There was the lack of motivation, the lack of Viktor Nikiforov to chase after and climb the standings beside. Honestly, Stefan should have known something was wrong when Chris recycled his free skate from Worlds of last year instead of finding the inspiration to come up with something new. Seeing Chris win bronze in Beijing and then a gold in Paris quelled those fears, but it seemed that his insecurity was rearing its ugly head again.

But it was no use looking back on the season now that the Finals had ended. It was no use regretting, either. Chris had always stuck by that statute, until very recently, when he found that maybe regret could be a replacement motivator for the competitive rivalry with Viktor, which was now absent. Ultimately, it made him feel worse. 

Stefan had hoped that maybe the love and support of himself and Coach K would help Chris get motivated, but Chris was too focused, too much of a professional to mix his personal feelings into skating. He was not like Katsuki or Nikiforov who used their love as a beacon of strength to reach for and lean on whenever needed – no, Chris was too proud to do that, and every time he broke down and exhausted himself to that point, it ended up like this, with him crying in Stefan’s arms. This sort of emotion display had no place on the ice, and in Christophe’s mind, neither did personal feelings. But ironically, his personal feelings for Viktor – ranging from bitter jealousy to deep, personal affection and care – are exactly what caused Chris to slip up, multiple times in the past and also today.

Furiously trying to blink away the tears that keep coming, Chris manages to keep talking and pouring his entire heart out. All or nothing; very typical of him.

Chris’s voice is getting progressively weaker. The tears keep flowing out of him. He says, “You shouldn't love me. I don't deserve it, I'm not worth it.”

Okay. Maybe _that_ is the worst-case scenario, actually. 

It was natural for a competitive athlete to doubt his talents after a loss. But doubting his and Stefan’s love? That needed to stop. That needed to be fixed.

Love, as he had discovered only recently, made everything so much clearer. From breathing, to sleeping, to making decisions, to skating – it was so much easier when you had someone by your side to lean on. Stefan had complete confidence in Chris’ decisions, of course, because he loved him. Chris knew this and did not need to be told. Retiring was not the end of the world. But any doubts of the strength of their relationship, and any self-doubts by Chris of his own capacity to be loved – if Chris had any hope of healing, then those doubts needed to be alleviated, to be killed in their cradle.

This time, it was easy for Stefan to know what to say. It came to him in an instant. 

“I do love you.” There is no hesitation in Stefan’s voice at all because this time, there doesn’t need to be. He doesn’t have to hold anything back. “Do you want to get better?”

Chris is choking up again. “God, yes.”

“Then work harder at the rink. Don't give up. This season isn't over, and you still have me here. Will you work for it?”

“I don't know if I can.”

“But will you try?”

“Yes.” Chris swallows hard, trying to amass more strength in his voice. “I promise, I will.”

That’s more than enough. Stefan kisses him on the head and strokes through the longer parts of his hair. “I love you. I love you. Do you want me to keep saying it so that you know? I love you.”

Always a messy crier, Chris is soaking Stefan's shirt. Chris closes his eyes and cries harder, sobs racking against him. He tries to hold them back but he’s too weak to hold his breath right now, so the sobs wreck through him, shaking him from the inside out. He’s getting more and more exhausted, but not enough to stop crying.

An apology is due here, and Stefan takes the moment of silence to ease him into desperately-needed aftercare. “I'm sorry I agreed to hit you.” He continues stroking through his hair. “I shouldn’t have, knowing you were this sad.”

Chris frowns. “It’s not your fault. I asked for it. I wanted it.”

“I should have said no.”

“It made me feel better.”

“No, it didn't.”

To that, Chris can't disagree. 

Time passes. Stefan isn’t sure how long because he’s deep in thought and very tired. Chris can't stop crying, but he manages to loosen up a bit and get quieter, and open his eyes, still holding onto Stefan's clothes with strong hands.

After a while, Chris is close to silent, as if he’s fallen asleep. His breathing is still shaky and staggered, and he sniffles occasionally, but overall he has calmed down considerably. He is awake, however. Stefan looks down and sees his eyes barely open, his long, dark eyelashes nearly fanning out over his cheeks, but green eyes peek through, tired and sad.

Stefan asks him, “Are you still crying?”

“Yes...” The embarrassment in his tone breaks Stefan’s heart.

Maybe he has more to say. “Why?”

“I don't know. But I can't stop.”

“It's okay. Keep going. I'm here. Easy, Chris...”

Stefan rubs his back to ease him, and instead of calming him it makes it worse. Hot tears leak out his eyes all over again and soak Stefan’s shirt. Chris is crying for a million different reasons now and wants to stop but can't.

He needed to cry. Stefan had said that to him when they were still at the arena. Of course, Chris would never admit that he was right – and in a way, he wasn’t right. It was natural and cathartic for Chris to break down like this, that is true. But what he really needed was to be held, to bury his face in his boyfriend’s chest and get his hair stroked. And most of all, he needed to be told _I love you_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really enjoyed writing this, even though it took me a while. no smut in this chapter, just good old-fashioned aftercare and "i love you"s, in french of course! thanks for reading! !!!

Sunlight pours into the room, between the parted shades Chris had been watching the sunset through what seemed like moments ago.

The disturbance causes Stefan to open his eyes. It’s early still, so the sun is still pale and soft in intensity, and it doesn’t blind him. He feels Chris’ weight atop him, heavy and hot against his body and chest, in the same position as when he fell asleep last night.

Their synced breathing loses its matched rhythm, causing Chris to awaken soon after. As he stirs awake, Stefan looks down at his body and sees his ass, barely covered by those too-small black panties, is still red, raw, and probably painful.

He helps Chris wake up by stroking through his hair a little, doing his best to be as gentle as possible.

Chris opens his eyes, but doesn’t move. His voice is weak, from all the crying and shouting last night, and barely comes out louder than a whisper. “Good morning.”

“Stay still, _chaton_ ,” Stefan answers him in a calm, quiet voice. “I'm going to get a warm towel. Try not to move.”

Chris stays perfectly still. But as the memory of what happened returns to him, his muscles tense up. He nuzzles against Stefan’s chest as if trying to hide.

As much as he wants to stay here and cuddle while the sun rises, Stefan knows Chris is in pain, and helping him is more important. He manages to free himself from under Chris’s weight and get off the bed. Chris stays put, groaning a bit, in pain and in protest that he’s awake so early.

After a few moments in the bathroom, Stefan returns with a fluffy, white hotel towel, wet with warm water. He stands at the edge of the bed.

As his boyfriend’s padded footsteps approach, Chris finally opens his eyes fully. He immediately looks at Stefan’s shirt, and grimaces.

“Your shirt.” Chris’ voice is barely above a whisper. “It’s disgusting. I made a mess of it.”

Stefan looks down. He’s right, it is disgusting. His cream-colored shirt has dark spots on his chest and down his midsection. No doubt the damp parts are tears, and the crusty parts are snot.

It doesn’t matter. “Don't worry about it.” Stefan sits on the edge of the bed. He gets the towel ready. It’s heavy in his hand, and warm. “This is going to sting.”

Instead of protesting or confirming he was ready, Chris surprises Stefan by taking his free hand and holding it. The touch is light and affectionate, and Stefan deeply appreciates the communication of trust. It’s never too early in the morning to get emotional, apparently.

As gently as he can, Stefan pulls the panties down and places the warm towel on Chris’ abused rear end. Chris barely flinches, but his grip on Stefan’s hand grows tighter as he attempts to level out his breathing. It must hurt, especially when Stefan moves it around. He thinks he sees a hint of dried blood along one of the reddish stripes, but doesn’t look too closely in an attempt to ignore it so his heart doesn’t sink any further.

Once he finishes, Stefan removes the towel and puts it on the nightstand. Then he strokes through Chris’ hair again. “Just stay in bed until you can sit up. I'll go downstairs and bring up coffee for you.”

Before Stefan can get up and leave, Chris blinks, and he's tearing up again. He brings Stefan's hand to his lips and kisses him on the inside of his palm.

“ _Je t'aime._ ”

Stefan plants a kiss on the top of Chris’s head before leaving. “ _Je t'aime._ ”

* * *

The hotel lobby is still very full. Many of the fans have left already, but the skaters remain in Barcelona with their families in anticipation of the banquet and the exhibition skates. As he prepares the coffees, Stefan wonders if Chris would be invited to skate an exhibition piece, and doubts it. Since he didn’t place podium, he would not automatically get an invitation. If he were retiring, the ISU would have given him an honorary spot, but that wasn’t going to happen this week; hopefully not any time soon, either.

While down at the breakfast area grabbing the free coffee, and fixing it up just the way Chris likes it, Stefan is able to eavesdrop on the other skaters who are around. JJ Leroy is there with his parents and girlfriend. He is easy to eavesdrop on because his vocal volume is always at maximum. He also saw Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki there. He hoped they would not approach him and ask how Chris was doing, because then he would have to lie or make up a story, and further, he wasn’t a big fan of talking to Viktor when Chris wasn’t around. Viktor was so pushy, in a borderline socially-incompetent way, as if nothing private was off-limits to him. Many of Chris’ friends were extraverted like that. Stefan would rather have his alone time or let Chris do the talking. But with Chris currently incapacitated, that would be a problem.

Luckily, Viktor did not notice him. Katsuki did, and greeted Stefan with a smile and a wave, but thankfully did not start a conversation. Stefan found his eyes were drawn to the gleaming gold ring on Yuuri’s finger, matching with Viktor. It made him uneasy, almost jealous. Chris deflects all talk of marriage unless he’s drunk, and even then, he’s usually joking to hide his insecurity about it. Stefan hopes that sometime soon Chris will open up and talk about how Viktor’s engagement makes him feel. Viktor, Christophe’s longest friend, closest rival… Viktor, who is older and more successful… Viktor, always in the spotlight, always ahead. Stefan can easily guess how Chris feels about it. It will take a lot of effort to get him to talk about it, though.

As relieved as Stefan is that he was not approached by anyone, he knows hearing that will break Chris’ heart. A room full of his peers, and nobody asks about him. Stefan figures that Katsuki is probably curious, but doesn’t want to burrow into private matters. Viktor, on the other hand, would ask only if he cared to know. 

Stefan walks off to the elevators, two coffees in hand. Nobody pays him any attention or asks about Chris. He hopes that when he gets upstairs, Chris will forget to ask about it.

* * *

Back at the room, Chris has fallen asleep again. His audible breathing is soft and level, a slow rhythm that can make Stefan fall back asleep too. He keeps quiet, tip-toeing around the room so he can place the coffee on the side table, but the floor squeaks, and Chris opens his eyes.

As he stirs awake, Chris looks very beautiful, so beautiful it makes Stefan’s heart pound. He wants to say it, wants to admit it out loud, but the words won’t come out. They’re caught in his throat like held breath, as if this peaceful silence in the air is too thick to disturb.

“Sorry,” he says instead. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“The smell woke me up.” Chris thankfully knows better than to move too much, and remains on his stomach. He doesn’t lift his head from the pillows. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Stefan knows that if he sits down on the edge of the bed, he’ll shift the weight of the mattress and potentially hurt Chris, so he sits on a chair by the side table and stays quiet. If Chris needs anything right now, it’s isn’t coffee – it’s to be watched over, to be cared for. 

Chris lies there, naked. The sunlight hits his skin him through the window and he glows like a god. The blonde in his hair shines from the light, and the natural chestnut brown brightens up a shade lighter. His cheeks are flushed slightly, his pink lips curve in a slight frown. He is absolutely gorgeous.

Stefan can’t hold it back anymore. “You…”   
Chris lifts his head, and the light from the window brightens his eyes up. “What?”

Somehow, he stops himself and looks away. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

“Say it. If I’m allowed to ask anything of you in our relationship, it’s to be honest with me. Don’t hold anything back.”

Even his voice is beautiful, low and dark, disrupting the silence and shaking the room. Stefan can feel his cheeks turn warm. “You probably don’t want to hear it right now. Have your coffee first.”

Chris actually smiles, small and gentle. “I want to hear it.”

Stefan is definitely blushing now. He feels a little sick. The image of Katsuki and Nikiforov’s matching rings flashes into his mind. He thinks about how Chris would look with a ring of rose gold on his finger. He thinks about how often Chris would brag about it and flaunt his hand around casually, so that people would comment on it. He thinks about how happy it would make him.

It’s not that easy. Chris isn’t that easy. And even so, that’s the future. Stefan opens his eyes and thinks about right now, about what Chris is feeling, and about what he’s feeling.

He’s feeling love. They both are.

Stefan doesn’t hold back. “I was going to say that you’re beautiful.”

Chris stares at him. Of course he’s heard that before. He’s heard the word a million times; he uses it enough on his own, but so many people use it to describe him, his skating, his jumps and spins. But the look on his face suggests this is the first time he’s ever heard it. 

Stefan knows that isn’t true. He looks away again. “You just looked so beautiful for a second there. With the sun on you like that. Smiling, a little bit of pink in your cheeks.” He looks back to Chris, sees the shock on his face. “There’s a lot of times I want to say that. A lot of times I look over at you and you’re glowing, almost, and I want to say it. Like when you were on the ice yesterday. You looked absolutely gorgeous, so stunning. I mean, you always do. I regret not saying it more often.”

There is hesitation as Chris assembles himself. “Next time you want to say it, don’t hold back. I want you to say that to me whenever you think it. Provided you’re telling the truth.”

“I am.”

Chris smiles. A full smile, his green eyes lighting up with affection. _Finally._

Stefan takes a sip of his coffee. His heart settles. He feels warm through and through, and distantly decides that he doesn’t want this moment to end. His pounding heart reminds him that it doesn’t have to.

Chris looks at him with a slightly-mischievous smile, a look Stefan recognizes. “Stefan?”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember what you wore when we first met, at the Zurich banquet all those years ago?”

Stefan remembers that evening as clear as if it happened yesterday, but thinking back, that is one detail he can not recall. “No. But I remember what you wore.”

That causes Chris to smile again, just a bit differently. “You wore a black suit with a blue shirt and black tie. Your shoes were black and blue suede.”

 _Hideous,_ Stefan hears himself think. He has certainly changed as a result of Chris’ influence, and in many ways – one of the most drastic changes was developing a hint of a fashion sense, thankfully. Stefan remembers the night they met. He pictures Christophe in his mind, how stunning he looked in that ridiculous suit. He recalls wondering if someone so beautiful could pull off anything they wore, but the cynicism only lasted a second, because that beautiful man he watched from afar was walking right towards him, a soon-to-be-familiar smirk on his face.

Stefan recalls, “You wore a plaid grey suit with a red shirt and white tie. There was a white rose in your breast pocket.”

Chris tilts his head a little. “Why don't we wear those colors again? For the banquet, I mean. Nobody else would know the significance but us.”

Stefan raises an eyebrow. “Really? That's kind of…”

“ _Romantic_ is the word you're looking for. And try to clean up for me, please. I want you to be stellar arm candy, the best out of everyone in the crowd.”

Finally, Stefan finds himself smiling, too. “As it please you, _chaton_.”

**Author's Note:**

> obligatory translation notes because chris and stefan both speak french in this:
> 
> dernière danse - "last dance". taken from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5KAc5CoCuk) by Indila, which is also in french. it reminds me of chris so that's why i chose it! english translation is [here](http://lyricstranslate.com/en/derni%C3%A8re-danse-last-dance.html)!  
> je t'aime - "i love you"  
> cherie - "sweetheart" (term of endearment)  
> chaton - "cat/kitten" (term of endearment)


End file.
